The Shadow - Trail of Vengeance Part 6

The being from the dark could well be termed a human wraith. He entered just after someone went out through the revolving door, oozing like encroaching night, as the whirling portal coasted to a stop.

Without pausing to a.s.sume a human shape, the ghostly visitant merged with the darkness cast by a large square pillar in the lobby. Then, filtering farther, the shapeless creature in black sidled along the wall, toward another pillar.

Only one personage could have made so remarkable an entry. He was The Shadow.

It happened that Cardona was staring directly between the pillars when The Shadow pa.s.sed. His swarthy face glum, the inspector's eyes were giving a reflective stare. Perhaps Cardona's eyes were slightly out of focus, preventing him from noting the stretch of blackness that moved along the wall. But had Cardona been told so, he would have denied it.

Joe had heard that The Shadow could exercise a hypnotic ability which enabled him to cloud men's minds. Thus fogged, co-ordination was lost between eye and brain. By such a system, The Shadow rendered himself invisible, or, at least, accomplished the equivalent.

It was said that The Shadow had mastered this power through long study in Tibet. If so, The Shadow could outdo the Tibetan mystics who taught him, for they claimed that, to be unseen, a person would have to remain immobile. Yet The Shadow frequently escaped observation while on the move-more by use of darkness and convenient shadows than by mystic powers.

Whatever the answer, the result remained: The Shadow had crossed the hotel lobby unseen by Joe Cardona. Pausing near the elevators, he then merged with a deeper gloom that marked a stairway, leading up.

It might have been that the halt was an essential part of The Shadow's system. Possibly, he tarried to hear what Cardona was about to say. For Joe was turning to two detectives who were about to take the elevator to the fourth floor.

"As soon as you relieve the men on duty," ordered Cardona, "knock at Wight's door. A fellow named Henry will answer; he's Wight's valet. Tell him you want to see Mr. Wight in person, just so he'll knowyou later. If Wight objects, phone me here in the lobby. I'll come up and make him change his mind."

The clang of the elevator door drowned a slighter sound from the stairway. In the darkness, The Shadow had encountered a grilled gate, set there for the express purpose of blocking off intruders from the floor above. He'd seen the gate the evening before and knew that it had a formidable padlock.

But there was something else The Shadow knew about padlocks. Cheap padlocks could be smashed by a single blow.

The one on this gate wasn't cheap; it would have taken considerable pounding to break it. That was the very point that rendered it more vulnerable, to anyone who knew the proper trick.

Clutching the padlock in one gloved hand, The Shadow thwacked it with a gun b.u.t.t m.u.f.fled in a fold of his cloak. His stroke was directed at the hinge side of the padlock.

The lock, itself, withstood the blow. The shock carried to the hidden spring that actuated the hinge, and the lock sprang open. Sliding the grilled gate like a lazy tongs, The Shadow squeezed through. Not only did he draw the gate shut again; he clamped a perfectly good padlock back where it belonged.

Continuing his upward trip, The Shadow left a closed trail behind him.

ON the fourth floor, The Shadow drew from sight as he saw the two detectives coming from Wight's suite. Around the corner of the pa.s.sage, The Shadow overheard their comments on their brief visit.

"Kind of a snooty guy, that Wight," said one. "Just sat in his chair and gave us the cold stare over his newspaper!"

"Yeah, but the valet is all right," returned the other d.i.c.k. "What bothers me is why Wight told him to take those two suitcases downstairs."

"We ought to report it to the inspector."

"Go ahead. Use the hallway telephone. I'll watch the door to see that only Henry comes out."

Evidently, only Henry did come out, for when The Shadow heard the door open, he saw the detective give a friendly wave. But Henry didn't come toward the elevators; instead, he must have gone the opposite direction, toward an inclosed fire tower that had a heavy door, latched from the inside.

Hearing a dull thud that could have been the tower door, The Shadow waited only until the lone detective had taken a few paces. Then the cloaked watcher moved from cover.

This time, the invisibility didn't work in full. Swinging about, the d.i.c.k caught a glimpse of fleeing blackness and drew his revolver.

A moment later, the headquarters man was performing an astonis.h.i.+ng midair flip, somersaulted by a seemingly invisible force. The Shadow had faded into a low, forward drive and whipped upward, hoisting the amazed d.i.c.k back across his shoulders.

Returning from the telephone, the other detective found his companion sitting, half dazed, in the middle of the hall. By then, The Shadow was gone.

OUTSIDE the fire exit, two men were huddled in a narrow alley. One was Bert Glendon; the other, Timothy. They had parked their car across the street, and were hiding here to avoid a pa.s.sing patrol car that kept circling about the block. Another car also intrigued them; it was a sedan, parked just across the street. The car had arrived only a few minutes before, and its driver still was in it, snug behind the wheel.

"It is most certainly Wight's car," said Timothy in an undertone. "It often stopped at your uncle's house."

"Who is the fellow in it?" inquired Bert. "Wight's chauffeur?"

"I believe so," Timothy replied. "Let me see"-he tapped his fingers to his forehead-"Wight's chauffeur-Ah, yes! A rather dull chap, named Perry. Dull, but reliable."

The patrol car swept past. Blinking after the lights had gone, Bert saw the chauffeur step from Wight's car. Promptly, Timothy plucked Bert's sleeve and whispered: "Perry!"

"He's expecting someone," rejoined Bert. "He's opened the rear door. Look, Timothy!"

Timothy looked, and shook his head. Perry was simply standing beside the rear door, with his hand on it.

"I guess I was a little previous," admitted Bert. "I thought he was opening one of the doors. Wait, Timothy! He's opening a door-the one on this side of the car!"

Instead of looking toward the car, Timothy grabbed Bert's arm tightly and drew the young man around.

There was a sound from the firetower exit, just behind them. Perry must have seen it swinging outward and had therefore begun to make ready for a pa.s.senger.

A man stepped from the fire exit, carrying two suitcases. Bert thought the fellow must be a servant, until he heard a sharp hiss from Timothy: "It's Wight! Come! We must stop him!"

STOP him they did, with a combined drive that sent Wight back on his haunches, the bags flying away from him. He'd played a clever trick, Wight had, in posing as his own valet for the benefit of two new detectives that Cardona had sent to guard him. A trick that had bluffed The Shadow, who had arrived upstairs too late to see it staged, and therefore had been forced to rely upon the say-so of the duped detectives.

But Timothy wasn't fooled regarding Wight. Nor did Bert overlook the matter of the bags. One suitcase, the larger one, broke open, showing clothing as its only contents, so Bert s.n.a.t.c.hed the other, found it heavy for its size, and therewith flung it to a corner behind the fire-tower exit.

Bert thought that Timothy could handle Wight, but he was quite mistaken. In a fas.h.i.+on quite unseemly for his haughty style, Wight whipped a revolver from his overcoat pocket and aimed it Timothy's way.

Bert made a flying lunge, that carried Timothy right from the gun's path, to the same corner where the suitcase had gone. Wight clambered to his feet, to be met by Perry, who came das.h.i.+ng in from the street.

"Get into the car, sir!" called Perry. "Hurry! I'll bring the luggage!"

Wight's brief bravery ended. He thrust his gun into Perry's hand and made a wild run for the waiting car.

It was a bad mistake, pa.s.sing over the gun, more serious than Wight realized. He hadn't corrected Perry on the matter of the luggage. The term "luggage" could apply to one bag, as well as two. Seeing only one bag, Perry slammed it shut and grabbed the handle. He did take a brief look for another, but realizing that one hand was already occupied with a gun, handed him by Wight, the chauffeur quickly decided that there couldn't be another suitcase. So he followed Wight, with only the one bag, which happened to be the one that Wight didn't care about.

Luck was playing strong for Bert and Timothy. Perry hadn't actually seen them, and he half believed that Wight's sprawl had been nothing more than a hurried stumble. Nevertheless, the chauffeur was looking back over his shoulder as the tower door went shut, propelled by its heavy spring. Stopping suddenly, he aimed the gun he held.

"He's spotted us!" gritted Bert. "We've got to scare him off!"

Bert was coming to his feet, his stubby revolver in his hand. Odd that he should be gripping Rayne's gun in that fist, and grabbing Wight's bag of wealth with the other! Bert was sure that the closing door had revealed him, along with Timothy; but the butler thought otherwise. Valiantly, Timothy grasped Bert and tried to draw him back.

It wasn't necessary. Bert was flung aside by the thing that had actually attracted Perry's aim. The thing was the door from the fire tower, hurled wide again. Perry fired wildly at the block of blackness; then took to his heals like a frenzied rabbit, when he heard the response his shots produced.

From the jet-black doorway came a fierce, challenging laugh, the sort that invariably shook excited men when they began gunning blindly. Seized by a greater fright than that which had gripped Wight, Perry could think only of flight.

He had heard the laugh of The Shadow!

CHAPTER XII. CHASE OF DEATH.

IF ever The Shadow had undertaken a blind chase, this was it. So far as he knew, Wight's valet, Henry, was the man who had come down the fire tower, rather than Wight himself. For Wight was already diving into the car and burying himself, ostrich fas.h.i.+on, when Perry began shooting at the fire-tower exit.

As for Perry, he might have been Henry. The Shadow could only identify him as a man with a bag, who also was armed with a gun. He saw the chauffeur reach the car, fling the bag in back, and turn to fire two more shots. Then, slamming the rear door, Perry leaped into the front, which was already open. He pulled that door shut and started to drive away.

Gun in hand, The Shadow was speeding out through the alley, his chase still blind. He had at least gained one purpose: to stop the car before it reached the corner. In all this web of vengeance for past crime, wreaked by Bert and Timothy upon men who certainly deserved it, The Shadow was following one impartial rule.

The Shadow wanted to crack the situation wide open at any time when the law would profit thereby. Just as he had attempted to stop Bert and Timothy when they made their getaway from Rayne's, it was The Shadow's duty to halt Wight's car. No one should have left Wight's apartment, nothing should have been taken from the place, while the police were engaged in protective service there.

To Bert and Timothy, The Shadow's surge was quite as much a mystery as the ident.i.ty of the unknown being in black. Vaguely, they linked him with the affair at Rayne's; but, more definitely, they were concerned with matters of their own. They wanted to get away with the bag of loot that they had so neatly wrested from Wight. Together, Bert and Timothy ran for the same outlet that The Shadow had chosen. By the time they were really started, Perry had pulled Wight's car away and The Shadow was leaving the alley. Though he hadn't seen Bert or Timothy, The Shadow was taking no chances on enemies behind him. The sideward whirl that he made from the alley's mouth had the appearance of a vanish into thin air.

What made it more remarkable was the fact that The Shadow was totally gone from view despite the blaze of light that suddenly flooded the rear street. The patrol car had swung around the corner, bucking the one-way traffic, which was fair enough, considering that its occupants were answering the sound of gunfire.

They didn't see The Shadow, for he turned his spin into a perfect fade to the shelter of a bas.e.m.e.nt entry.

Instead, the police saw Bert and Timothy as the two popped from the hotel alley.

Bert began shooting immediately, and Timothy's gun joined in. Whether either, or both, were aiming for Wight's car as it scudded past the police patrol, was something for later discussion. The cops thought that the gun blasts were meant for them, and they spurted their car across the sidewalk.

It was fortunate that a certain bas.e.m.e.nt entry was very narrow. The patrol car rode over it as though its sides were the tracks of a repair pit, and stopped with a solid thump against a wall.

If it hadn't, The Shadow would have been coping with a ton of automobile, for that happened to be the very bas.e.m.e.nt s.p.a.ce that the cloaked fighter had chosen as a temporary pillbox. Gone was The Shadow's chance to shoot the tires of Wight's car as it rounded the corner. The only tires that he could see were those of the police car, hemming him within a very narrow coop.

Patrol-car lights went blank when they met the wall. Guns talked; they had the snappy chugs of Police Positives. Bert and Timothy were not shooting any longer; they had both emptied their guns in the salvo that had forced the police car to the curb. Running across the street to their own car, the vengeance partners escaped the police fire entirely.

Then Timothy's car was under way, this time with Bert at the wheel. He cut the corner before he turned on the lights, and his speedy driving produced a successful escape. The cops fired a few last scattered shots after the two fugitives, and missed them, car and all.

As for The Shadow, he was at that moment wiggling from beneath the patrol car and didn't have a chance even to aim before Bert and Timothy were gone.

A CAB came streaking down the street and the patrolmen shouted at it. The cab slackened, veered to the curb. It was almost stopped when its driver caught the twinkle of a tiny flashlight, m.u.f.fled in the folds of a black cloak so the patrolmen couldn't see it.

This was The Shadow's own cab, handled by Moe Shrevnitz, known to many of his friends as Shrevvy.

Moe released the brake pedal when he caught The Shadow's gleam, and pressed the accelerator instead.

In that brief interval, a door of the cab flapped wide and slammed again. It swallowed darkness, as a cab door would on a back street at night. But the blackness that it gorged was solid. Moe heard the whispered tone of The Shadow from the rear seat.

Shouts, not shots, followed the cab as it took off in pursuit of Bert and Timothy. The patrolmen were holding empty guns. Before they could reload, other officers arrived, headed by Inspector Cardona. With them, they were bringing Henry, who looked very out of place on the street because he was wearing Wight's fancy dressing gown. Ordering his detectives to grab whatever cabs or cars they could obtain, Cardona took time to shake facts out of Henry. The valet chattered that Wight had intended to be met by his own car-a sedan which fitted with the description of the one that the patrolmen had seen. Henry knew the license number, which was a help.

Soon, half a dozen vehicles were off to the hunt, spreading everywhere in hope of finding the missing sedan.

They were also looking for an unidentified car, which the patrolmen thought was a coupe but couldn't be sure, since it had been sparing with its lights. There was also mention of a cab that should have stopped, but didn't. But the sedan was the first, and surest, choice. Cardona was determined to find it-and did, within ten minutes after the hunt began.

The sedan was piled up near the entrance of an alley on a side street, just off an avenue. A truck was standing on the avenue, and its driver explained how the thing had happened, though he disclaimed all responsibility for the accident.

He'd been driving down the avenue, he declared, when the sedan had veered madly across his path to reach the side street. It should have righted itself, but it didn't. The sedan's driver must have completely lost control, considering the way the machine crashed.

Cardona decided to have a look at the driver. Detectives hauled a numbed man from the front seat of the wrecked sedan. Henry, the valet, identified the fellow as Perry, the chauffeur. Questioned, Perry could only mutter, while he rubbed his head.

"Must have cut too sharp... wheels. .h.i.t the curb, I guess... it got me right back here, the door or something-"

Weakly, the chauffeur was trying to ill.u.s.trate the bounce that had made him lose control. Then, less dazed now, he widened his eyes in recollection.

"I guess Mr. Wight was kind of scared," said Perry. "The way he was flopping around in back, I mean. I thought he was coming right in on top of me when I shoved the brakes. Maybe he grabbed me and that's why I cracked. I don't know. I only hope Mr. Wight wasn't hurt too bad."

A rear door was hanging part way open, so Cardona jerked it wide. On the floor, he saw the huddled figure of Wight. How badly Wight was hurt, was the next thing to be learned. In drawing the man from the car, the detectives thought he was hooked to something, for they could hardly budge him.

It was Cardona who suddenly guessed the truth. The detectives were tugging at a dead weight. Freeman Wight wasn't merely hurt; he was dead.

How the crash had happened to kill Wight, Cardona couldn't understand, considering that Perry had been applying the brakes when the crack-up came. Joe was asking Perry if Wight had been hanging from the window, looking back, and the chauffeur, nodding slowly, said he might have. People sometimes took a smash more heavily, when hanging from car windows.

Stooping to look at Wight, Cardona tried to learn if the dead man had received a body blow.

Wight had.

But it wasn't the sort that Cardona expected to find. Joe didn't have to pull Wight's s.h.i.+rt front open to look for a bruise. The s.h.i.+rt, itself, gave evidence. Its scorched cloth was stained with blood. Wight's body blow had been a bullet, straight to the heart. Cardona turned to the two patrolmen. Gulping, they swore that they hadn't fired after Wight's car. The men who had were the pair who escaped later in the unidentified coupe. One of them must have delivered that fatal shot, unless Perry was the killer and was trying to cover the fact.

Taking charge of Perry's empty revolver, Cardona put the chauffeur under arrest and decided to hold Henry as a material witness.

Frantically, Perry kept trying to explain that there had been someone else in the case, a mystery man who had followed Wight down the fire tower. The chauffeur was referring to The Shadow, and Cardona recognized the fact when Perry mentioned a weird laugh that had spurred his flight. Nevertheless, Cardona bluntly rejected that portion of the evidence.

For once, Joe Cardona concurred with the official opinion advanced by Commissioner Weston: namely, that The Shadow, being unidentified, must be cla.s.sed as a myth. In beginning a man hunt for persons unknown, Cardona would not have to include The Shadow. An essential point, considering that there was no indication that The Shadow had followed Wight's car.

There was only one other trail that The Shadow would have taken. It was the one that the law wanted; that of the two men who had escaped in another car, carrying a second suitcase that Henry mentioned but which wasn't found with Wight's body.

Inspector Joe Cardona was counting on The Shadow to find two missing men, decide which was a murderer, and turn the proper culprit over to the law!

CHAPTER XIII. THE SECRET PLAN.

BERT GLENDON finished stacking the contents of Wight's bag and gestured for Timothy to dump the lot into the table drawer. Timothy couldn't, because the drawer was already filled with the loot that the pair had taken from Trelger and Rayne.

It took another drawer to hold Wight's pelf, and while Timothy was stowing it there, Bert added up the total of a list that he had made.

"Something of a piker, this chap Wight," Bert observed. "From the weight of his bag and the way it was stuffed, I thought we were taking more from him than from Trelger and Rayne together. However, it runs close enough to the others, and these bonds and currency of smaller denominations can be disposed of easily."

"Very good, Mr. Bert," declared Timothy. "You can start disposing of them-to charity!"

Bert gave a short laugh.